Month: July 2026

Tide In, Tide Out

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A pod of pelicans,
five in all,
flap low across the sandy beach,
following the flow of the whispering wind,
their long beaks pointing
like a compass arrow
to some destination they know
and I don’t.
Gentle waves from a deep blue horizon
ripple toward the shore,
split into broken lines of sea green,
sparkle in the hot sun,
and splash into soft white foam
on a white sand beach
that rises into a swoop of dunes
topped by tall sea grasses
overseen by the easy drift
of a lone dragonfly.
No rush say the waves
and the swaying seagrass.
No rush says the drifting dragonfly.
All in good time.
Sea and beach,
beach and sea,
speaking wisdom in the rush
and the hush
and the shush
of an age-old voice
twinned with the wind
in a pulse of purpose,
in a dance of chance,
tide in,
tide out,
a rhythm sure and steady—
as sure and steady as the flow
of meditation.
Deep breath in,
deep breath out,
tide and time are made of this.
We ebb out
to family, to friends, to the world,
then wash back up
onto the shore of ourselves,
sometimes storming in,
crashing, breaking, swamping,
sometimes gentling into a soft wash,
bubbling with contentment and hope,
pulsing with purpose,
dancing with chance,
we and the wind and the waves.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

That Bug!

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That bug!
That bug armored in black,
beetling across the tv screen
then taking off like a little bomber.
That bug!
That bug!
Some call it a stink bug.
Don’t squash it, they say;
it will smell.
Some call it an assassin bug.
What does it assassinate?
I wonder as I duck.
That bug!
That bug armored in black,
now creeping up the wall.
I creep, too,
closer,
closer,
cup my hand,
swoop and scoop it up.
Am I now the assassin?
I feel its legs
tickling my palm.
This bug doesn’t bite or sting.
I feel sorry for it.
It’s lost in this living room,
which could become a dying room
for a bug deceived
by the light of a flat screen.
I step outside and fling it up
toward starlight.
Assassin or stink bug or blackish beetle,
it zips off into the night air,
and I hope it finds its way.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

Wildflowers

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As my neighbor tells it, every morning
from an upstairs window,
her young daughter looks down
on my wildflower garden below.
If she were in my yard looking up,
the wildflowers would be twice her height,
but from her view, she can see
all their friendly faces smiling up at her—
white, red, and magenta cosmos,
blue cornflowers,
lemon yellow and bright orange marigolds,
zinnias in every shade of pink.
On thin stems among foxtails and bristle grass,
the wildflowers sway and bow
and nod to every passing breeze.
They beckon to butterflies and bees
and lightly scent the air with their wildness.
I’d like to tell my little neighbor
that they bloom just for her.
In a sense, I guess they do,
for they fill her child’s-eye view
with their gift of gladness.
They greet her each dawn,
welcome her to the delights of a day
almost as young as she is.
It’s as if they know that she, too,
will bloom and grow
and grace the world
with her own wild wonder.
But I know that wildflowers bloom
not for her,
not for me,
not even for butterflies and bees.
They bloom because that’s who they are;
that’s what they do,
and we are the lucky ones
who get to see them.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

The Surprise of a Simple Morning Prayer

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A woman I admire,
whose wisdom runs deep,
said she greets each dawn
with prayers of gratitude.
My heart heard
and hummed an old hymn,
though I remembered
only one verse:
“For the beauty of the earth,
for the beauty of the sky . . .”
And now, like a fresh spring,
this prayer of thanks bubbles up
to meet me every morning
when I wake.
Then, last week,
a second verse surfaced:
“For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night . . .”
It danced in my daydreams,
nudged me at noon,
twined around me at twilight:
“the beauty of each hour.”
Each hour.
Each.
Hour.
It was a whispered invitation to ask,
Where is the beauty in this hour,
this hour right here, right now?
A window opened in my soul,
welcomed me to watch dawn drift in,
to savor the first bite of blueberries,
to look up from washing dishes,
feel silky suds slide slowly off my hands,
smell lavender-clean dish soap.
It challenged me to pause
once in a while during each day
and ask,
What is the beauty of this hour?
And the next.
And the next.
Which opens the door
to the beauty of this day,
this week,
this month,
this year,
hour after hour of finding beauty
until a simple morning prayer of thanks
turns into a lifetime of gratitude.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.